Page:The Poems and Prose remains of Arthur Hugh Clough, volume 2 (1869).djvu/469

It seems not either here nor there,
 Somewhere between us up above,
A region of a clearer air,
 The dwelling of a purer love.
1852

 

Were I with you, or you with me,
My love, how happy should we be;
Day after day it is sad cheer
To have you there, while I am here.

My darling's face I cannot see,
My darling's voice is mute for me,
My fingers vainly seek the hair
Of her that is not here, but there.

In a strange land, to her unknown,
I sit and think of her alone;
And in that happy chamber where
We sat, she sits, nor has me there.

Yet still the happy thought recurs
That she is mine, as I am hers,
That she is there, as I am here,
And loves me, whether far or near.

The mere assurance that she lives
And loves me, full contentment gives;
I need not doubt, despond, or fear,
For, she is there, and I am here.
1852